Untitled
by krazyhippo66
Summary: Cosima and Delphine POV pieces starting from 1x08 up through post season finale
1. Mess, Delphine POV

You don't know how it happened.

But it did.

You're irreversibly, inexplicably in love with one Cosima Niehaus.

…

At first, you don't realize it. Yes, her kisses make your chest burn and your skin tingle and your arousal pour. But that's biology. Yes, the sex was maddeningly hot and sweet and more than you had ever known. You didn't realize how desperately you needed her fingers until they were gone, and you didn't realize how talented she was until you couldn't breathe, until you entirely forgot _how_ to. And you didn't realize how deep inside your bones she was, even in the little moment when your body screamed for oxygen and you didn't know how to appease it, and your only thoughts were of Cosima. Of holding her. Of living her.

You know the words in your head don't make sense. But neither does what you are feeling.

And you don't realize that this is the love everyone talks about.

Not right away.

You remember exactly how you realized it, though. It was a very long and very short process all in one.

You're pretty sure it started after the sex. You cried, because you had never felt something so amazingly perfect. You hadn't known what perfect was before that; before, you only imagined. And then she caught you, her worried eyes peering so deeply into yours, you fear she can see all the lies that have gotten you to this point. Into her bed. Into her heart.

But she just listens to your half-assed explanation, her face pensive as she plays with your fingers. Then you change the subject rapidly, unwilling to think about anyone else. You ask for ice cream. And the smile she gives. You don't know how, but she always manages to smile with her eyes _before _she actually smiles. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen. She does this, and your heart flutters. She hums and your skin jumps to life. She bites her lip in that irresistible way, leaning ever so slightly closer, and your hunger changes from the ice cream back to her in a millisecond.

But she was only leaning forward to get enough momentum to sit, and when her presence is gone, you are cold. You are craving her again.

"I'm gonna go to the store and I'm gonna get us some Eskimo Pies."

Her words barely register in your ears, much less their meaning.

"Eskimo…" is all you manage in an exhale.

You're too busy trying not to notice how empty her bed feels.

But your eyes manage to find her again, and you hear her voice a confirmation.

"I don't think I know it," you admit, rolling your head to the side to get a better view.

You catch a glimpse of her toned stomach and beautiful curves before their hidden away under that wonderful coat. All of a sudden, you can almost think straight again. You look up into her eyes.

"Prepare yourself," she says, "You're about to become a craven addict."

She slips on her glasses and tilts her head to the side. You're a goner all over again.

"I think I already am," you say dreamily.

Her mouth drops open slightly, as if shocked you're even still there, much less saying romantic things to her. But then she grins. It's bright and happy and it makes you feel almost warm again.

That's when you should've first had an inkling. But you still didn't realize.

It isn't until later that it hits you.

She calls you right after the class you T.A. for. Right after. Because you realize she knows your schedule now. You meet her at her flat, and she is yelling before you even sit down. It's not at you. It's at her professor that gave her a bad grade.

And as you sit there, watching her pace and rant and wave her arms around, _that_ is when you realize how in love you are.

The way she bites her lip in anger, but to you still find it sexy. The way her words come a mile a minute from her mouth, but she isn't babbling. Each word is precise and thought out, and you understand that she is giving you an exclusive look inside her head. How rapidly she thinks and how extremely hard she works to pull it back for other people.

She is there, offering herself to you, and you want more. You want to discover her every day. You want to feel her heartbeat every night. You want her to want you and feel the same way.

And it's also in that moment that you realize you cannot have it.

You haven't even begun anything with her, and you've already screwed it up.

You don't deserve her.

But you're selfish. And you want her anyway.

So you cry.

Right there, in the middle of her speech, you are crying.

She doesn't notice at first, too lost in her words and her frustration. She doesn't notice until you can't keep quiet anymore. Your silent tears turn to actual sobs, and she's at your side before she can even finish her sentence.

She pulls you into her arms, and you fold against her.

"I'm sorry," you breathe against her chest. "Je suis désolé."

She mistakes your apology for that of interrupting her.

"It's okay honey. My problem was stupid. It's okay, what's wrong?"

It makes you cry harder. But you repeat your words in shaky gasps and hiccupping breaths, because maybe, just maybe, if you say it enough now, it will stick when she finds out the truth. She continues to wipe your cheeks and rub your back, and you continue to mumble.

"I'm so sorry, ma chérie."


	2. Selfish, Delphine POV

Things are wonderful.

Time stops.

You don't know how often you visit her in her lab, but you never get tired of the surprise in her eyes, even after weeks and weeks of doing the same thing. You'll always want to see the subtle widening of her hazel eyes when you first turn the corner and the little upturn of her lips when you approach.

Before you were hesitant to kiss her in public. Not anymore.

You relish it.

You come alive when she leans a little harder against you, her hands never failing to find purchase on your hips. You love when she smiles against your lips, like a love-sick fool, because it gives you hope that the both of you are in the same boat. Except she's not a back-stabbing horror of a person.

You love when she pulls away, but never breaks her hold on you, her eyes scanning the room to see if anyone is looking. She smiles bigger if someone is. She goes in for another if they aren't.

It is, for lack of a better word, lovely.

It isn't until you get home that the pleasant feelings dissipate. At home you are alone. At home you are at Leekie's beck and call. At home, your saving grace is gone.

So slowly, ever so slowly, you stop going home. You start going over to her place. At first it's for dinners. You make the excuse that after seeing her kitchen, you cannot allow her to continue eating garbage. She doesn't argue. She simply sits at her desk, in full view of you, continuing her typing and coding and research and work, all the while, you can tell she has her eyes on you as you work.

So you always go slow. You make sure to never mess up or spill. You sway your hips a little more, enjoying seeing her lick her lips from your peripherals.

You always give her food with a smile and a wink. She never fails to blush and bow her head to hide it. You always go back to clean while she eats. The kitchen has sort of become your place. Not to be sexist. But it's the truth. You don't feel comfortable rearranging anything else in the flat, or touching it much less. The kitchen is yours to clean and organize and move whenever you want, because she has absolutely no use for it.

It feels like a home most of the time.

By now, you have figured out her taste. So everything you give her disappears in a matter of minutes.

Then you leave with a quick kiss and a wave.

After dinners became not enough time away from your house, dinners became dinner and sleeping. No sex. You wish there was sex, but after that first time, you cannot bring yourself to do it again. Not until you are free of Leekie. Not until sex with Cosima will no longer feel like a move in a chess game. You do not want to use her.

You know she doesn't understand this.

After dinner, you and she will talk for hours. Honestly hours. You are in awe of her mind and all it possesses. All the thoughts. All the emotions. All the _compassion_. You love hearing about her parents. You love hearing embarrassing stories that make her blush, even though she shares them anyway.

You love _telling_ stories. You love how she leans forward as you speak, as if mesmerized simply by the sound of your voice. You love the glassy look in her eye she gets. In those moments, she feels like yours.

She's not yours to have, you need to remind yourself.

Then after you finish talking, she always invites you to stay. Always.

At first, you agreed, staying on the couch even as she gets up. She had frowned at that. So eventually you gave in and slept in her bed.

She always tries to kiss you. You relent, always, because how stupid can you be to refuse such a feeling? Her lips make your head spin and empty the usually constant murmuring going on up there. Her hands wander more and more frequently, and you're forced to pull away, panting and flushed. And every time, you catch the worry in her eyes.

It hurts that she thinks you don't want her. You do. Desperately. Fiercely. But that doesn't make the fear in her eyes disappear.

You try to kiss it away, usually to no avail.

And then you pull her into your arms and sleep.

But that's the last of the good.

It quickly falls apart.

Because in those few waking hours when you are alone with your thoughts, her body warm and radiating in your arms, you realize what a stupid genius you are. You don't deserve your degrees or your merits or your job. You are just really, really dim. Bête. Stupide. Tu es folle. Crazy for even considering a happy ending for yourself.

You realize in those little moments in the dark, that you make everything worse every day, every _hour_, that you stay.

But you convince yourself that you are not hurting anyone, because if you leave, then they will just send someone else. You know how bad an argument it is. Because by then, Cosima would know she had been tricked. And she would not make any new friends. She would not let anyone within a fifty yard diameter of her. She would be _safe_.

Still. You cannot bring yourself to leave. You are selfish.

That's not even the worst part.

The worst part comes when Leekie starts calling more and you have less and less excuses for him. You have less room to wiggle away, and your window is closing. Get out or stay, and you do not know which one is best.

At the end of the week, you get to her apartment, food and dessert from your favorite restaurant in hand, because you've had a long day. And as much as you like cooking for her, you are just too tired. You switch the bottle of wine to the same hand as the bag so you can knock before opening the already unlocked door.

You see her at her desk, and your heart jumps a little. It always does when you see her. You bite your lip and enter, walking straight for her.

"Bonsoir ma Cherie," you murmur, slipping your fingers softly to her neck and guiding her chin up.

You kiss her gently, inhaling before pulling away, your fingers lingering on the hot skin of her neck as long as they can until you're too far away from her to hang on.

"I have the truffles that I promised you."

You set the things down on the closest clean space. When she doesn't answer, you look over your shoulder.

"You okay?" you ask as you shrug off your coat, expecting her to simply say she's tired.

"Are you?" she asks.

This catches your attention. Your hands falter in folding your coat. You give her a once over. She looks upset. _Really_ upset. Throwing your coat to the side, you step closer to her.

"Well I was, but…"

She doesn't answer. She avoids your gaze instead, roughly spinning her laptop to face you. You instantly recognize the picture of you and Leekie.

"Delphine _Cormier_," she accuses. "Not Beraud."

Your heart sinks. It sinks harder and faster than you could've imagined, and immediately you feel nauseated.

"You've already got your doctorate in immunology, don't you?"

You fall to your knees on the opposite side of the desk, crossing your arms on top of it. You know it's the closest you'll be able to get to her now.

"I am _so sorry,_" you breathe out.

She leans forward, anger in her eyes as she points to herself.

"I am _so stupid_," she whispers, an incredulous smile on her face, like she cannot even believe herself.

"No!" you're desperate to assure, reaching out across the desk. "No. No you're not—"

She pulls her hands away and straightens.

"You knew this all along," it's a half question, half affirmation. You always knew you were a bad liar. But why would she put herself up to all the pain?

"Yeah, that transcript you accidentally left behind," at this you cover your face, rubbing your temples quickly before looking at her again. She continues. "Your fake boyfriend in Paris, pretending you didn't know who Dr. Leekie was. I knew it was bullshit," her voice wavers, and you look at her sadly, "But I still thought you were on my side. I wanted to trust you." Her voice cracked.

"You _can_ trust me!" you exclaim more harshly than you wanted.

"You told Leekie I know these girls!" she almost shouts, but her tears make the words wobble and almost fall away.

You don't think you can stand to see her cry. Not at your expense. You're running around the desk as fast as you can, clutching for any part of her. You get ahold of her wrist and pull her chair close to you as you kneel.

"I had to!"

She turns her head away.

"Look at me," you shake her until she concedes. "He says you're in danger."

"Of _what?!"_ She's finally found hold on something other than crying and sadness and hurt. And you realize in her shout, that she has latched onto anger. You're screwed now. There's no getting past anger.

Her stare is firm and penetrating as she waits for your answer. You don't have one.

"D-You don't know, do you?" she asks angrily.

Fright washes over you, as you realize how much worse the situation is than you thought. Your eyes widen at her suddenly intense glare before you can't take it anymore. You duck your head and shake it hesitantly.

"No," you breathe out.

"Then you're the real danger, Delphine."

Staring up at her, you understand how right she is. How stupid you were to even drag it out this long. To take this from information gathering, to a one night stand, to a relationship. For a woman with a doctorate, you are dumb. So incredibly stupid.

She pushes away from you, and you lose your balance, falling back onto the ground and giving a yelp of pain. Instantly she stops and looks back, worry in her eyes for a split second. Then it's gone, replaced by horror. Then anger again. She's out of sight into her closet, and you manage to stand, only to see her lugging a suitcase back into her bedroom.

She throws it on her bed, grabbing nearby clothes without much thought, half folding them, and throwing them into the open bag.

"Please, Cosima," you beg, your voice quivering around her name. "Where are you going?"

You put your hand to your forehead as she continues packing, shifting your weight.

"Why, so you can tell Leekie?" she asks mockingly. "I am such an idiot!" she hisses to herself, slamming more clothes into the bag to release some of her anger.

You look on helplessly.

"What else did you tell him?"

"Nothing!" you cry. "Just the seven names. Nothing about…Kira."

At this, she stops packing. Her eyes shoot to yours, her mouth hanging open like she can't even believe you had the guts to say her name. She looks angrier than before, so you try to amend.

"She's an anomaly, you know that?"

It doesn't work. She's still pissed.

"Delphine, you can use me."

You cringe at the word. She waves her hands like it's nothing. It's so much.

"That's fine. But don't go near that little girl." Her anger is fading. You know she still has some left, but she's back to tears, welling up in her voice and eyes.

"I didn't and I won't!" you shout desperately. Why won't she see? You don't care about any of that. You care about _her_.

"GET OUT!" she shrieks.

"Please listen to me," you beg as you rush forward.

She takes a leaping step back away from you.

"Just let me tell you this one thing."

You expect her to decline. To shove you right out the door. Instead, she wipes at her eyes and sways, trying to calm herself and acquiesce.

You realize this is your best shot. These are the last words you are going to say to her, so you need to make them right. You need to let her know she is not worthless just because you screwed up. She isn't even close to being as insignificant as you treated her.

"I never meant to fall for you."

The gasp she gives makes you think your words actually physically pained her.

"I wasn't supposed to."

You stop talking for a moment because you're going to cry. Sitting there listening to her little gasping sobs, you clench your jaw to keep going.

"But I have."

She throws her hands down desperately.

"How can I possibly believe that Delphine?" Her lip quivers and she shakily inhales.

Your next words are going to be to tell her _why_ you fell so hard.

To you, she is not a number or a sequence or a copy. To you, she is not a scientist or a student or an experiment. She never was.

She is _special_ and _wonderful_ and the only person you will ever truly love. The little way she tilts her head when she thinks. The spark and ease of her humor. Her very well done, always spot on wit that never seems to fade. The joy in her eye when she speaks of science and all the things you like. The way she always seems dressed down when you see her unplanned and the way she's always dressed up when you give her warning.

The way she bites her tongue and refrains from speaking by _actually_biting her tongue. The way she cares so much for her other clones, keeping them safe by tracking their bloodlines. The way she doesn't even seem to consider herself…_ever_.

But for some reason, that never makes it out of your mouth.

Somewhere along the way, your words get muddled up, or your brain does. Because instead of trying to promise her how wonderful she is, you find yourself trying to get her back. Even though you know she won't.

"Because you feel it."

She scoffs and turns away. You realize you should've stuck with your initial plan, but your selfish mind takes over. You want her, and instead of making her feel better, all you want is her to love you back. You hate yourself even more for it, but your mouth sputters on.

"This is not…it's not a lie, it's not _possible_."

You're crying now, You're crying freely because you lost your chance. You had your chance to make her feel better and take all the pain and hate and carry it yourself, and you failed. You failed her.

Instead of saving her, you are telling her you're not a bad person.

You _are_ bad.

Somewhere along the way, you forget entirely what you had set out to accomplish. All you want is for her to know how much you love her. You want to bear your soul to her like she did for you, even though you know she'll crush it.

So you do just that.

"You know I've never been with a woman before."

"Yeah. It showed," she says bitterly. Instantly.

You lobbed it right over home plate, and she did not hesitate to smash it out of the park.

You inhale sharply, and the only words that keep you from busting out sobbing run through your head.

You never deserved her.

That's the mantra that starts as you bow your head. It's what gets you on your feet and lets you not trip as you walk away. It's what helps you remember your coat and gets you to open the door and slam it shut.

But it fails you after that. You fall against her door and sob.

Because you could've had her.

If you had met her without Leekie, you _would've_ deserved her.

But that's long gone.

On the other side of the door, you hear her unhindered sobs, her wheezing breaths.

You intended to make yourself hurt more than she did.

Hearing that desperate, horrible crying makes you remember exactly what you told yourself every night.

You only made it worse.


	3. Healing, Cosima POV

You do not expect Delphine to show up at Felix's door.

Even after you got her text.

You do not expect her to help you so willingly.

Even though she's sworn up and down that she's on your side.

You do not expect her to fall right back into your heart after only a few hours.

Even though she's the only one who's ever slipped past your walls before.

You do not expect her to keep reaching out to you after you pull away.

She does.

Again and again.

Sometimes she catches herself. Sometimes she doesn't.

And eventually you stop pulling away; you had only been doing so before because it felt like the right thing to do. Your body and mind are tired now, though, so you find yourself doing what feels _natural_.

Leaning into her. Smiling with her. Trusting her.

And before you can stop yourself, the words are slipping out. "I'm sick, Delphine."

You need someone. You want her to be your someone.

And she takes it in stride. She pulls you close, her fingers tracing patterns on your neck as you cry. She rides it out with you, her arms comfortingly loose about your body. You slowly come back from your overwhelming grief and fear, only to find you're buried against her chest. You can feel the thrumming of her pulse in her neck, and you press your lips to it. It had been merely a gesture of gratitude, but feeling her blood rushing, hot and fast against your lips makes you want to go in for more.

You kiss her again, and she does something totally unexpected. She pulls away, cupping your cheek in her hand. "Are you okay here by yourself?"

Your heart drops. "Can't you stay?"

She smiles sadly and shakes her head, dropping her hand. "It would not be right."

"But…I need you." You want to wince at how pathetic you sound, but you cannot find it in you to care even a little.

"And I, you, but not…not like this, oui? I would be taking advantage." She stands.

"No, you wouldn't!" The desperation in your voice proves her point, and you sigh, slumping your shoulders dejectedly. "Alright."

"Chérie…" she says gently, commanding your attention. You look up. "Do not look so blue. I will be back in the morning."

"Promise?"

She looks even sadder. "Oui. No more lies…"

"I didn't mean…" You drift off, because in a way, you _did_ mean you do not trust her completely.

You see in her eyes that she knows of your distrust. She bends down and kisses your forehead affectionately, her lips lingering against your skin for a long moment before she straightens.

"Bonne nuit."

Her words are barely a whisper as she walks away, and your eyes flutter shut. "Goodnight."

You hear her pause in the doorway, as if reconsidering, but then the metal slides shut.

…

You wake in Felix's bed, Sarah holding tightly to your torso. Her makeup is smudged and streaked down her cheeks. Her fists are tangled in your shirt. You do not know how to proceed. You've never really been this close to Sarah before. Sure, you've hugged her once or twice, but she's never really seemed…_cuddly_ before.

Carefully, you wrap your arm over her side and pull her closer. She grumbles in her sleep, tightening her hold on you and snuggling closer, her head falling to your chest. And you feel oddly comforted, knowing you are able to comfort. Your hand rubs softly up and down her side; she sighs.

Felix's head appears near the stairs, and he smiles sheepishly. "She had a rough night," he whispers.

You do not want to talk, your mouth so close to her ear, so you furrow your brow.

"They took Kira."

Your eyes widen. He looks at you sadly. "I convinced her rest would sharpen her aim."

Something else quickly catches your attention. The smell of pancakes and chocolate. You unconsciously smile and Felix rolls his eyes. "Yes, watcher girl is here." You see a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've had quite a bit of alone time with her."

Panic washes over you, but sibling instincts keep your body still to not disturb Sarah. Felix grins a little wider. "Don't worry. I didn't do much of the talking. Sarah, though…she grilled her hard. Turns out, Blondie over there's a terrible liar. Even convinced Sarah she didn't rag about Kira."

You sigh in relief, and Sarah stirs. It takes her a moment to fully understand her position. She pulls away, not disgusted or embarrassed, but she does give a disgruntled "sorry" as she rolls over. She rubs her eyes, sitting up just as Delphine joins Felix on the stairs.

"Morning sleepy-heads," she murmurs.

You grin. Sarah tries not to.

"I've made you breakfast. Est-ce que c'est bien?"

"Hmm?" Sarah asks sleepily.

"Is that alright?"

"I'd be bloody stupid to refuse somethin' that smells that good."

Delphine smiles excitedly, stepping a couple more steps higher, a plate of chocolate-chip pancakes in one hand, a bowl of freshly cut fruit in the other. "Coffee?" she asks.

"_Please_," Sarah muttered.

You shake your head. "I'm jittery enough without it."

Her eyes send affection your way, the corners of her lips upturning before she disappears down the stairs again. Felix climbs into bed too, sprawling out across the bottom of it and grabbing a pancake off the stack, eating it like a large cookie.

You shrug and do the same, Sarah following right behind. She scarfs down three of them before Delphine gets back. When she does get back, she pauses beside the bed, taking in the sight of your rather strange looking family. You swear you see sorrow flash in her eyes before she throws forks into the middle of the bed, handing Sarah her coffee and you a wonderful looking cup of tea.

You forgot how thoughtful she was.

She stands there watching the three of you eat, her fingers fidgeting like the second any of you ask, she will run to get it done. You know she's overcompensating.

So you pat the mattress beside you. She looks at you hesitantly, and you give her your best pout. You want her near you. She caves instantly, placing herself beside you, curling her knees under her. Her side presses flush to yours, and you try to act casual. It's difficult.

The four of you share the meal with small talk and comfortable silence, eating the fruit right out of the bowl, pancakes held in your hands. Any actually fun topics would make it seem like Kira's abduction was no big deal. Any solemn topics would have you and the others following Beth's route. A route that continues to look more and more reasonable.

You lean against Delphine, testing your limits. She stays stock-still. Carefully, you rest your chin down on her shoulder, so the sides of your heads are against each other. She does not respond, instead choosing to stab another piece of fruit with her fork and bring it to her lips.

You feel Sarah's stare on you, but you ignore her, focusing on anything but.

Eventually she and Felix say they are going to chase a lead on Kira. You tell her you will work a different angle. Try getting information from Leekie. Delphine nods her agreement.

Sarah only half-hears, you're pretty sure, but she _does_ agree, so you and Delphine run with it.

…

In the weeks to come, you watch Delphine work her double agent magic, and she gets a location. Not by force. Not by sex. She is just that invested. Hopefully she is that invested in _you_ and not just in being on the right side.

After the whole ordeal, and after everyone has finally accepted her, you expect her to be more at ease around you. She isn't. She always treads carefully, never initiating contact, but always allowing it.

The first thing you try is holding her hand. Her smile is bright and instant, squeezing back before focusing her attention back to the television.

Next you try a kiss. Just a chaste little goodbye one when you leave for the grocery store. She kisses back automatically, biting her lip when you pull away. It's always the most adorable sight.

"I miss you," you whisper, leaning back in, and she nods, her nose brushing against yours with every little nod.

"I miss you too."

…

That is the moment where everything almost returns to normal. She doesn't ever hesitate to wrap her arm around you or kiss you, but it is always chaste and innocent and lovely.

But you're getting antsy.

And a little horny. Scratch that. A _lot_ horny.

You've never gone this long without sex, and it's getting to the point where naked Delphine is about the only thing on your mind. Honestly. In the lab. At the store. At the apartment. Watching TV. Babysitting Kira. Going to class. It's a wonder you still accomplish simple tasks.

Something holds you back, though. Some small little thing in the back of your head telling you the first time was a fluke, and that she had only done it because she was required to. Sometimes you truly do fear that she is not attracted to you at all.

So your mind becomes hyperaware of all her movements. During your slowly more frequent, slowly more intense make-out sessions, you notice every little thing she does. And you realize with sudden intensity that she is doing exactly the same thing you are.

She is doing the same thing she's been doing all along. _Waiting_.

She's waiting for a sign that you trust her in that capacity again, while you are waiting for a sign that she _wants_ you to trust her in that capacity.

So you've both been waiting for nothing.

It becomes apparently clear to you on the day Sarah and Felix take Kira to the zoo. She comes home, her gaze flicking once, twice, about the empty apartment before she looks to you. The question is in her eyes before she says it, so you fully understand what she means when she asks "Enfin seuls?" with an absolutely adorable inflection. You smile and stand, nodding and expecting a greeting kiss.

That's not what you get.

She drops everything to take you in her arms. She kisses you hurriedly to show her interest, backing off into submission the second you kiss back. You tangle your fingers in her hair to keep her close, and you swear her hands are trembling as they fall tentatively to your waist. She pulls them back quickly before deciding against it again, slowly placing her hands back on your body.

It's almost cute how indecisively nervous she is.

Something else inside her wins out, though, because she stops pulling away. She stays glued to you like you are her life source.

You sense her need before you experience it. Her hands don't demand or plead. Her lips don't force or take. Quite the opposite. Her kisses are just as soft and loving, her fingers ghosting just as hesitantly over your hips.

No. Her need is not like that. It's not in what is there, but what _isn't_.

It's the way she pants _so_ heavily when you break apart, like she has just run a marathon. Like she is actually physically exhausted from restraining herself. From keeping herself for requesting more.

You put your lips back to hers, trying to show her that she doesn't need to resist. Slowly, you drag your fingertips over the curve of her ass, delighting in how her lips freeze in shock for a millisecond before softening once again. You can't help but smile, your heart jolting when her lips pull tight in a mirroring grin. She lets out a shy laugh; she tries to keep it light, but you can hear how worked up she is as in the final second, it falls flat.

That little nuance. It works its way under your skin. Sets your hair on end at the back of your neck and down your arms and spiraling down your legs.

For a moment, you stay back, relishing the wonderful sound of her panting mixed with your own ragged breaths.

"Delphine…" Her name rushes out automatically with your exhalation. The way your tongue must flick and fold over the name is perfect. It is sweet and wonderful, and you love saying it. Always.

She presses her forehead a little more firmly to yours, signaling her acknowledgement. It's as if she doesn't trust herself to speak. That only revs you up. You open your eyes to see her dark ones staring back. They are somehow still so innocent looking, even with her slightly parted lips and lowered chin. Even with lust pooling in her eyes. A tiny question lies within them, but you hear it loud and clear: _What are you doing?_

You let her know your intent this time, your eyes never leaving hers as you trail your fingers higher, hiking her dress up and loving the new, hot skin of her thighs that you find.

She slips up. For the first time in weeks, she lets her arousal be known. For the second your nails scrape dangerously close to the edge of her underwear, she gasps. Even her gasp sounds French. It is high-pitched and restrained and desperately needy with a side of fear.

Her sharp inhale stays caught in her chest for long moments. Her eyes are blazing, and you see in them that she understands her slip up. She understands you were _looking_ for her slip up. You question her silently, and she lets out her breath slowly like a sigh. She gives no rejection. She does not wave you off. You pull her dress up higher still, and her warm fingers catch yours. For a split second you worry. But it is not to stop you. It is to finish for you, for she knows you couldn't reach over her head even if you tried. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hear the metal of the dress's zipper hitting the floor, but your eyes are not on that. You'd have to be stupid to watch the dress.

Eagerly you reach for her. Your hands fall to her waist and her skin jumps as if oversensitive. You trail your fingers down over the toned plain of her stomach and the muscles clench quickly again before relaxing. As if she has been holding this in for months. You realize in horror that she has. She _has_ been waiting months for you to be ready. And you let her, because you weren't sure if you _were_.

Your eyes dart to hers when you realize you haven't moved in a while. Her breathing is still elevated, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, but she gives you a small smile. That's it. A warm smile that manages to reach her eyes, even with the desire so prominently etched in. She still doesn't ask. She lets you make the next move.

You do. You wrap your arms around her and tilt your head up to invite her in. She takes it, dipping her head down and meeting your lips a little more surely, because she senses your enthusiasm now. You part your lips and she follows obediently, allowing your tongue to explore her.

Your fingers unclasp her bra, but you do not separate. Not yet. You keep your lips sealed with hers, then lean back ever so slightly, testing. She unconsciously follows, leaning in enough that she has to take a step to keep her balance, her leg finally making contact with you. One more victory for you.

She bites her lip and pulls away, stepping back with her leg too. You think she's going to tell you to stop. She doesn't. She lets her unclasped bra fall to the floor, standing there in front of you. For a brief moment, she is confident, her desire outweighing her shy-at-heart nature, but you can see the wheels in her brain turning, her mind catching up. Still. She does not cover herself.

She is still panting, an intoxicating flush now visible on her chest and neck. Her breasts are perfect. Or to you they are. They fit right in your hands, and you do not hesitate to take in their every detail now, while you have the chance. You have never seen her like this before. Your first time was quick and new and a little clumsy. You never had the chance to really _see_ her body. Appreciate it.

You feel praise bubbling up to your mouth, but you suppress it. Surely compliments were tired words on this perfect woman's ears. But then your mind has a little moment, where it feels like you're falling off a cliff to your death. You might've actually physically jolted at the dropping feeling in your stomach. Why? Because it hit you. What if everyone who ever met her had thought the same thing. That surely their compliments would only be that of annoyance because of repetition. And what if because of that, she had never received a compliment in her life. Friends or bedfellows alike.

"You're absolutely beautiful," rushes from your lips. "Honestly."

Her eyes widen slightly in disbelief, her mouth opening in shock before she gives you this adorably shy smile, color filling her cheeks. It both warms you up and freezes you instantly because you might've been right.

It makes you want to show her how beautiful she is. How much you love her.

You pull your shirt off, loving how she tries to stare and not stare at the same time. Lust wins out. She stares unabashedly as you remove your bra, transitioning smoothly to the zipper of your skirt. You bend slowly, pulling both the skirt and your tights down at the same time.

You hear her swallow, and you lift your head to catch her gaze, slowly straightening back up. She is worrying her lip between her teeth, her eyes never ceasing movements as she takes in every part of you. She takes a tentative step closer, her hand reaching out carefully. It hangs in the air between you, and at the last second, she closes her fist as if to restrain herself.

You shake your head and take her hand in both of yours. You gently coax the fist open once again, guiding it to your chest.

She is too gentle at first. It feels like teasing, but you know that's not her intention. She caresses the swell of your breast, circling around and over your nipple. You shudder and squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself not to correct her, in fear that she will want to stop. But a few more light strokes and tentative squeezes and you cave. You are still holding her wrist, and you reflexively push her hand harder into you.

She must understand, because she kneads harder, and nerve endings inside you fire everywhere. You moan and lean into her hands, and then her lips are on yours once again. Her one hand stays on your breast, pinching and rolling and kneading, her other snaking its way down your side and around your back, tugging you closer. Your hips meet and her leg falls between yours, and you roll yours hips. She thrusts back, her thigh pulled taut and firm, giving you such a delicious friction through your underwear.

"Oh," slips out your mouth and into hers when she meets your next thrust perfectly, "shit."

You grind against her leg, trying to get closer. Your knee brushes against her center and the sound she lets out is somewhere between a moan and whimper.

It sets you on fire.

Every nerve ending that hadn't been active now was, lighting you up from the inside out in a new and frighteningly intense need to satisfy.

No matter how desperate you are for release, your body wants something else even more.

Her release.

So despite the throbbing between your legs, you slip your hand down her stomach, loving how the muscles still twitch and flex. You kiss her hard when you dip under the lace of her underwear, and she reciprocates, automatically shifting to give you more room.

The wetness you find almost shocks you. It's slick and warm and _abundant._ You circle her clit lightly and her hips jump, thrusting lightly against your hand. She gives a strangled whimper as she breaks your kiss, her eyes squeezing tightly shut as she leans her forehead against yours.

You dip your fingers lower, and she gasps despite herself, her head falling to rest against your sweaty shoulder. When you enter her with a finger, she lets out a mewling sound that you want to hear for the rest of your life. Her knees buckle, but she leans more of her weight against your shoulder as you continue.

"More?" you whisper against the side of her head, kissing her hair softly, never stopping your slow rhythm.

She nods against your skin, her hum of satisfaction vibrating through your body as you add another finger.

Her hips rock in perfect counterpoint with your hand, her arms wrapping tighter around your neck as you lightly curl your fingers. Her moans get more frequent and higher in pitch, and you can feel her heart racing, pounding fiercely against her sternum that is plastered to your own chest.

How much time passes, you aren't sure. It could've been five minutes or two hours. All you know is that it is both not enough and too much for you. Your mind is tired from taking in so many sensations, and your arm is starting to burn, but you also don't want it to end. You know she's close, though. Every inhale is sharp and high. Every exhale is a muffled moan.

You start to grind your palm up, curling your fingers harder, and her thighs begin to quiver. Something isn't right, though. Her body is rigid, but not in the right way. It's defensive. It's bracing. You do not understand at first, but then you feel her hands trembling at the back of your neck, the way she nuzzles just a little further into your neck.

She's scared to let go.

Terrified, probably. Which makes you wonder for the millionth time how much sex she's _really_ had.

"It's okay," you whisper against her hair, slowing your fingers down slightly.

She leans a little more into you, whimpering slightly.

"Shhh," you soothe. "It's alright. I've got you."

She lets out a shuddering breath before her hips grind down to meet your hand. You smile and nod.

"Yes. I've got you, sweetie. Let go."

She moans against your shoulder when you speed up a little, and all the signs that she is right on the edge come back. So you do not stop, continuing your thrusting until her whole body tenses. You love the little calm before the storm. You love that split second before she totally comes undone, because it gives you just a little time to remember that _you_ are what is causing it.

In the next second, her body is jerking and shaking, her arms clinging even tighter to you, her walls contracting about your fingers. Your name spills from her lips; it sounds heavenly. She bites your collarbone, suppressing her moans as best she can, her weight falling even more heavily against you as her knees nearly give out. You slow your movements inside her, bringing her down from her high until she begins supporting more of her weight once again.

Her body still spasms occasionally, the two of you sharing a small, breathy laugh when her final shudder subsides. For a moment, you two just stay there. Her face is still buried in your neck, her chest expanding and shrinking with her shallow panting, her breathing shaky.

Gently, you remove your fingers, and she sighs, sagging a little further into you. She mumbles something into your neck, something you don't understand. Either it was French or simply too muddled from her fatigue, but the words just sound like jumbled noises and vibrations. Slowly, she pulls away, giving you control over your body once again.

You forget in that moment that she is inexperienced with other women, and suck your fingers into your mouth without much thought. You remember when her eyes go wide at the gesture. You remove them to stutter out an apology, but before you can, her eyes change.

She no longer looks needy or horny or anything you've seen before. She looks hungry. Her eyes are dark and intense and lustful on a new level.

She pounces on you with renewed vigor, and you are positive your lips will be bruised. You don't care.

This is new. Different. It is need driven instead of want driven. Her lips and tongue are everywhere and you don't stop her. You encourage her. You pull her closer and kiss back just as hard, pressing your torsos and thighs together to try and quell the pounding in your body. Her skin is hot and slick and you can feel her heartbeat too. In her chest and in her stomach and her legs. It is everywhere and it is pounding for _you_. Not anyone else.

Her lips slip off yours, trailing down your neck, and your fingers once again find purchase in her hair.

"I…I am not sure…how to…" she admits disjointedly through her nips and kisses, and even without being able to see her, you know she is blushing: the cheek pressed up against your neck has increased a couple degrees.

"Just…I, just…" You try to form coherent words, but the way she is rolling her hips against yours has you blanking. How she could be even a little unsure is beyond you. She doesn't even have to touch you to turn you on, and here she is, kissing like a pro, sending you painfully close to insanity. Her hands are still admittedly a little shy, but every calculated move she makes has you begging for more. You don't even know if you could spell your name right now. Her teeth scrape against your collarbone and a shiver works its way up your spine, leaving your skin sensitive and tingling.

"Just do whatever," you muster out in an exhale, your hand grabbing hers and shoving it downward. You wish you could give her more guidance, but in all honesty, you think she's doing fine. More than fine.

"Whatever?" she murmurs in your ear, and you bite back a moan, squeezing your eyes shut.

She finds your lips again, slipping her tongue between them, her fingers tracing the crest of your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She timidly swipes her finger across the wet spot on your underwear, and you hiss involuntarily, your hips jerking to meet her hand more firmly. She complies and rubs harder.

This time, she swallows your moan and you feel her grin proudly against your lips before she is pushing you backwards with the weight of her body. You clumsily follow, gasping when your legs bang against something. She doesn't stop though. She simply pushes you up onto what you finally realize is the newly purchased dining room table.

Your head is reeling, and she gives you no time to process. Her one hand pulls at your underwear, the other coaxing you to lift yourself up. Somehow you manage to comply, never breaking from her lips and kicking the fabric away. She stands between your legs, her head tilted up to kiss you now that you are taller. It is intoxicating to be over her, your hands cupping her face as you kiss deeply.

And then she is gone. You try not to whimper at the lack of warmth near your face. Her lips make up for it, leaving kisses all down the column of your throat, and it feels like your blood is burning for her. Her hands wander listlessly around your body, from your ass to your breasts and everywhere in between, just not where you want them. But her kisses lower further, ghosting over your breasts and down your stomach.

Your breath catches and your arousal surges as her knees audibly hit the ground, her lips pressing firmly below your navel.

"Delphine," you gasp, and she stops what she is doing to look up at you. The way her round eyes stare up at you inquisitively, it's not even something your fantasies could've come up with.

"Oui?"

The simple syllable makes you squirm along with the warm breath tickling your center, and she tries to hide her little pleased smirk. You entirely forget what you had wanted to say. You sit there staring at her, your breathing raw, your face hot from your exertion and arousal combined. She presses another soft kiss a little lower, her eyes staying locked with yours.

"Jesus," you breathe, closing your eyes.

She takes it as encouragement, guiding your thighs on top of her shoulders, her hands snaking around to your ass and pulling you to the edge of the table.

You brace for the oncoming storm, be it experienced or totally clumsy, because you are so revved up, she could be the worst lover in the world and you'd still tumble off into oblivion with a mind-blowing orgasm. It's just fact. You've been waiting a _long_ time for this, and getting her off was a warm-up and a half to say the least.

But no touch comes. No fingers, no tongue, no nothing.

You open your eyes, only to catch a glimpse of her face between your legs. She has sat down on her heels, perfectly in line with the table's edge, but she does not move. She is staring.

You see the cogs in her head turning, and her eyebrows quirk together as she thinks; it's as if she's forgotten _you_ are there along with your body. With all your other partners, you had never experienced this. The girls you had been with either had not given a damn what you looked like, and the other were too shy to let you know they were staring. So you should feel embarrassed. You should be flushing under her scrutiny, but you can't find it in you to feel even a little self-conscious. That adorable little pensive look does not scare you off; it makes you laugh, softly and lovingly. She is such a scientist.

The sound startles her, and she looks up at you with the smallest embarrassed smile, but her eyes are still excited. You smile down at her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, allowing your fingertips to sweep along the line of her jaw.

The gesture seems to calm her, and she peers up at you for a long second before she turns her head, kissing your palm firmly.

She then leans in and gives a tentative lick, and your thoughts are erased. Though she has not done it before, and you can tell, she is very conscious. The pressure of her tongue is constant, not too hard or soft, and she follows your vocal cues almost perfectly.

You don't know what you've done to make her so bold, but she no longer seems scared or hesitant as she licks in broad strokes. To keep from thrusting against her, you grip the edge of the table with one hand until it goes numb. It only seems to make everything she does feel better. Your other hand tangles in her hair, but you don't force her anywhere. It is just an anchor. Reminding her you're there and loving everything she does.

You moan loud again, throwing your hand behind you on the table and leaning back, anything to get you that last millimeter over the edge. But somehow she holds you there. She holds you there for torturously long minutes, always easing up the second you're positive you'll crumble. At first you think it's because she doesn't know how close you are. And then you realize in _horror_ that she knows _exactly_ how close you are. She's just being her bratty self.

You've got half a mind to call her a bitch, but then she's back to bringing you close again, so you decide to tell her later. You can't help but dig your heels into her back, locking your knees around her shoulders. It's about the only thing you can do to keep your now shaking thighs from clamping around her head because in all honesty, your world is gone.

The second your orgasm hits you, there's nothing left. It's just you and her and the waves of electricity rolling through your body like her essence embedding itself in you. She is everywhere inside you and you don't want it any other way.

Your arm gives out and you collapse on your back, panting and gasping because for a moment your lungs did not bring in oxygen for you. She does not relent, bringing you down from your high until you're too sensitive to handle it. You blindly grab for her, pulling her up. Somehow, you manage to sit back up so the two of you are practically level again.

She's smiling so brightly at you. She rolls onto her toes to give you a kiss, but right as you go to close the distance, she drops back onto flat feet, that wonderful smile faltering. "Oh…I'm sorry. Let me go brush my teeth—"

"Are you crazy?" you laugh, giving her no time to reconsider as you kiss her firmly.

She instantly steps forward and back between your legs, pulled toward you by _something_. Her smile comes back full force, and it makes you feel warm. You smile back, your teeth knocking together lightly, and it couldn't be more perfect. _She_ couldn't be more perfect.

Pulling back, you look at her for a long time. She smiles back for a little before falling shy under your gaze. She shifts her weight, her hands falling to rest on your thighs. "Did you want to…maybe…take a bath with me?"

She drops her gaze to the floor, her teeth sinking into her lip. "I know his bathroom is not the most…_romantic_ of settings, but the tub is quite large…"

You grin and put your hands atop hers. It's enough for her to lift her gaze back to your eyes.

"The view is perfect," you laugh. "He has that really low window that opens up onto the street. We can observe downtown folk in their natural habitat."

This earns you a wide smile. She laughs. "That sounds…oddly entertaining."


	4. Do-over, Cosima POV

You smile at the sound of running water, digging a little faster for the corkscrew in Felix's disorganized drawers. It's only been two weeks since Alison cleaned it spotless and he has managed to mix everything up already. And normally you wouldn't care; your apartment is a very similar state of disarray, but it's keeping you from your naked girlfriend(?). That's not okay in your book.

Finding it, you practically rip the cork from the wine bottle, hastily pouring two glasses and nearly running for the bathroom.

You move the beads aside slowly with the back of your hand, not wanting to disturb her.

She has her eyes closed, head tilted back to rest on the lip of the tub. Even with the water swirling and slightly distorting your view, you blush, because her body does things to your body and it sometimes feels like you share a vascular system.

It appears she does not know of your arrival, so you take a few steps closer and gently nudged the neck of the wine glass between her fingers. They tighten around it and she opens her eyes, smiling small even though you know she wants to grin. Her eyes then drop to the glass.

"White?" she asks in surprise, her eyebrows rising as she looks back to you.

Your cheeks get hot and you dip your chin to try and hide it. "Yeah. You…you like it better than red, right?"

You sneak a glance back at her, and her eyes soften before she smiles. She smiles like you've just carried her up Mount Everest. "Oui, c'est vrai."

For a moment, you stand awkwardly beside the tub. She gives you an impatient look to go with her impatient words. "Well? Are you getting in?"

You smirk and take a sip of your wine. "Yes. But only if you scoot forward."

"No." Her answer is instantaneous along with a firm shake of her head. "I want to hold you."

That is new.

So very new.

Never have you been the little spoon. People always assume because you are bisexual that you flip with spoons too. You don't. You don't like when men hold you. It feels restrictive. Hard and locked and heavy. You've just never thought to let a woman try. You love collecting all the warmth and softness and good smells into your arms.

"I'm newer at this," she argues, even though you had failed to give her any response. "So I should get to try what I want."

You consider fighting her, but then she gives the smallest pout, a crease forming in her brow, her lip protruding just a little. All fight leaves you, along with any firm support in your back. You don't even care where your spine has gone. You like the loose sort of mushy tingling that it left behind.

And all your thoughts are of how you want to kiss her pout away. You do.

You lean forward slowly, so she sees you coming, and her eyes fade darker. She bites her lip as you hesitate millimeters away. The touch of your lips to hers is minimal, barely even brushing together, but you love the way your heart stutters, protesting. Telling you something so incredibly perfect cannot possibly be good for you. Like artery-clogging chocolate cake you make with twelve sticks of butter or singing at the top of your lungs even with the windows open or running out in the rain when just rain turns to thunderstorms.

But you've never cared about that. You've always indulged in junk food and slightly dangerous activities and silly little embarrassing things. Never have you cared if something is bad for you, so long as it feels good.

You know right then Delphine is one of those things. Even though you trust her completely, you know you would still be with her, even if you_didn't_ trust her. Because she is something you want to indulge in.

So you give her what she wants, slipping into the warm water in front of her and settling yourself between her legs. She pulls you backwards with her free hand, and you lean back until you feel her shoulder behind your head, her breasts firm against your back.

Both her and your right hands hang over the side of the tub, mirror images holding wine glasses. You inspect the way her fingers hold it so daintily, like she's holding up air. Her knuckles are not locked like you see with most people. They look loose and comfortable hanging there holding the drink, like that is how her fingers would have been, even if the glass was not there.

"Oh!" she breathes excitedly by your ear. "She looks shady, does she not?"

You smile and roll your head. To get a good view out the window, you have to press your cheek firmly to hers, and it feels so, so good to have that warmth.

Not to mention the warmth of the rest of your body. To say you've been missing out is an understatement. The way her inner thighs press to the outside of yours, subtle but present. The way her left arm floats around you. It is like you are holding her there instead of she holding you. You can feel her heartbeat thudding against your back, loving the way you move with her expanding and relaxing chest, until you find that your breathing has synced with hers.

Finally you are able to really _look _out the window, and you know exactly who she is talking about. A woman is looking around nervously, fiddling with anything her hands can reach. She fixes her hair and checks her phone and adjusts her shirt. Eyes over her shoulder and paces.

"Hooker," you guess, turning your head back toward the bathroom to sip your wine.

"What?"

You rack your brain. You are positive of all the French you learned in high school, all the street language is what you retained. "Putain," you offer.

"You think so?"

You lick the wine from your lips as you look back out the window, taking in the woman's far too short skirt and overdone makeup, glancing quickly at the skyline to catch a glimpse of the now falling sun.

"Yeah. Definitely."

Her legs tighten slightly around you unconsciously as she further inspects. You follow suit, leaning your head against hers and staring out into the alley.

Just simply being with her is wonderful. It's a feeling you have trouble placing. Your chest feels lighter somehow, and your body is loose. You feel…at _ease_.

Never in your life have you felt comfortable around people. It's not that you dislike people. Quite the contrary. You find them fascinating. But that does not mean you can relate. You give them easy humor and casual smiles and they all fall into step with you, waiting to pull witty sarcasm or a light laugh from you, but in the back of your head you are always a little nervous. Never genuinely scared or anything enough to make you any less chill, but you still get that little pull in your head, telling you you're not doing something right.

Not here.

The itch at the back of your skull is gone. You are not worried, because Delphine does not care.

You can sit here and do absolutely nothing and it is… It's is exactly as she had said. Oddly entertaining. Sipping your wine, lying in her arms, creeping on people outside and making light conversation in between long spans of silence is just about the best thing you've done. In twenty minutes alone, you both witness a handful of joggers, two families carrying groceries, eight men with leather briefcases, and a drug deal.

Eventually, though, after the wine glasses were emptied and discarded, you cannot focus on the people outside. Her thumb has started to gently caress your inner thigh. You glance at her and she seems to have no idea she's doing it, still so enraptured with the urban life going on outside. Her mouth is hanging open slightly, her eyes curious. Nothing about her incredibly honest face tells you she has even the slightest clue.

It's a-freaking-dorable.

But those fingers.

They continue. Up and down and up and down. Every time, the little shocks that jolt through your skin and veins go a little higher until it is going through your whole body. On her down stroke, your feet and legs tingle and on her upstroke, you feel it tangle all the way up your spine. It's distracting to say the least, but it is distracting in the best way possible.

She leans a little further toward the window, exposing her neck, and you stare at it for a long time. You do not know why it fascinates you so, but your eyes trace over the slope of it, back and forth, watching the muscles work as she strains to see.

But then the hand on your thigh distracts you again, reminding you of the slowly building heat collecting in your gut, a gentle throbbing between your legs. It is too much for you to handle. You kiss her throat first, and you feel the vibrations of her surprised little mewling sound, running delicious fire up your chest. She turns her head a little further away, her finger stopping its lazy patterns on your thigh to grip your hip. You let your tongue dart out to taste her skin, moving closer to her vein.

There, her pulse beats strongly against your lips, so rhythmic you almost want to stay there forever. You love how you can actually feel it speeding up in anticipation, just like yours is.

You suck a little, and her breath hitches, her exhale wavering.

She turns so her lips find yours. She kisses you languidly, parting your lips with her tongue and bringing life to your body. You kiss her back firmly, your hand lifting from the water to find her cheek, to pull her closer. She obeys, her hands gliding over your body to find a better hold. One wraps firmly around your stomach, the other traveling bravely over your center.

A moan slips out your mouth, and you twist your torso to really face her, sliding your fingers through her hair. She pulls your bottom lip between her own, sucking lightly and scraping her teeth over it before releasing it.

"Out," she whispers, her accent heavy on the 'u'. Your skin crawls and a deep itch forms in your lower stomach. "Now, out."

But you can't do much about it. You both hear the metal door sliding open and you cringe. You're pretty sure Sarah does too because you hear a frantic, "No, monkey! Felix is gonna take you to Bobby's for a Shirley Temple!" Overly sweet to hide the panic.

"Why—OH. Yes, c'mon Kira, let's go."

Delphine tenses, and if she could, she would probably cower behind you. She settles for tightening her hold around you and sinking a little further into the tub. You put your hands atop hers on your stomach, squeezing them reassuringly.

"Merde," she whispers, her breath tickling down your back.

You scrape your teeth over your lip as she had just done, but it does not feel the same. When she did it, you thrilled. When you do it, you just feel as worried as the gesture suggests.

"Alright," Sarah calls angrily from the other room once the metal door slides shut again. "All fingers and tongues as far away from nether regions as possible. I'm comin' in."

Delphine's hands slide out from under yours and out of the water to grip the tub's edge. You lift yours playfully up and above your head like you're about to be read your Miranda rights just as Sarah enters. She shoots you a glare. You just grin at her.

She tosses your underwear onto the ground between you and her. Delphine's cheek burns against your shoulder blade.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Sarah asks, fuming.

"I dunno about her," you say, "but I wasn't doing much thinking at all."

"We live here with _Kira_, Cos. You can't just go around doing each other like—"

"Jesus, Sarah. You're going off like we _planned_ it!" you laugh easily.

Her mouth opens in shock.

"We're sorry? Alright?" you continue, standing up from the water.

Immediately, you can tell she has no idea what to do. Her eyes stay on your body for a moment before she physically jerks herself away, turning around. "What the _hell_, Cos?"

You chuckle and shrug, stepping from the tub, water going everywhere as you reach for a towel. "What? It's not like you haven't seen it before."

At this she seems almost relieved and a little intrigued, and actually sneaks another glance at you as you pull on your underwear. A crease is set between her eyebrows, and you give her a curious look back. "What?"

"How do you have a bigger rack than me?"

You glance downward at yourself as you towel your top half dry. "Surrogates actually do have a role in fetal development."

She shakes her head, as if appalled the question had even slipped from her mouth. "Never mind. Just…be dressed when I get back, yeah? Or go to a fucking hotel."

She storms out before you can really protest or apologize, both of which you were considering. A giggle resonates behind you, and you turn around to see a pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, still very naked Delphine trying desperately not to laugh.

"Are you all so cheeky?" she asks and another small laugh comes up with another shy smile.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. She sees the joking in your eyes before you actually speak. "Yeah. Yeah we're all pretty screwed up, narcissistic, witty kinda woman, huh? 'Cept Alison. I don't think she has a sarcastic bone in her body."

"I like it," she admits, regaining some composure.

"Oh do you?" you ask smugly, walking over and gripping the tub's edge.

She nods weakly as you bend down further. "You better like it the best on me."

"I do," she answers breathlessly, like you have physically sucked the air from her lungs.

You lean a little closer, and you feel her shallow breaths against your lips. "Good."

Your lips press to hers and things happen. Your body surges. Actually physically surges to try and…you don't even know…envelope her? Take her? It doesn't matter. Something rages in you when her lips and teeth trail down your neck.

Your moan turns into a sigh as you physically tear yourself away. "We can't. Not here."

"I still have my hotel room," she reminds you smoothly as she stands.

How you had forgotten that in a matter of hours makes you slightly worried.

What is this woman doing to your brain?

She pulls the towel from around your body to dry herself off, and you give her a quick chaste kiss before going back into the studio. Sarah looks up from her magazine to glare at you, but she says nothing as you gather your and Delphine's clothes before practically running back to the bathroom.

Delphine quirks a mischievous eyebrow up at you, accepting the clothes. "Don't want Sarah getting any more of a view?"

You don't even pretend to hide it, smirking and shaking your head firmly as you yank up your skirt. "Not at all."

"I did not picture you as the jealous type. You seem to…laid back for it."

You laugh. "I'm not," you admit. "But for some reason, you make me different."

"Is that good?" her question is muffled under her shirt as she pulls it over her head.

"Yes. I…I like it a lot."

"Bien."

"Obvs."

Fully dressed, the two of you make a dash through the studio. But there's no way to get through without Sarah seeing. It's not like you're the Flash.

"Have fun fucking like bunnies," Sarah calls out without looking up, waving casually.

…

You forgot what it felt like. To be the object of someone's desire. You had given up on it a while ago. For too long you'd been using men and women alike to temporarily sate yourself. Nothing longer than a night. Eventually, it had started feeling like enough because you had completely forgotten what it felt like to feel…_complete_.

Not anymore.

You now remember how wonderful it feels to be loved. To be wanted. Because as you stand there, rooting around in the grocery bags after another round for the chocolate and peanut butter you _know_ is there, you feel her gaze. You feel it and try to ignore it at first, but you want to see. You want to _see_ her want. So you risk a glance behind you.

She is biting her lip, blatantly checking you out, even after hours of having you naked. The intensity of her stare as her eyes look slowly upward has some kind of hold on you. You swear there is an invisible Hulk gripping around your entire torso, because you can't seem to breathe.

She finally notices you looking at her. Her mouth opens in a gasp you cannot hear; your blood is rushing too fast against your eardrums. She flushes and smiles shyly, dipping her chin and looking away.

The pressure on your sternum increases.

"You are just…stunning," her tone is reverent and scared, making her words soft and warm, but her throat is tight.

You smile. Or that's what you wanted to do. Maybe you didn't you are so overwhelmed.

"It's okay to look," you laugh to try and loosen whatever is constricting your chest. "This isn't a 'touch, don't look' deal."

It doesn't matter that the irony is lost on her, because your words make her look up again, and you're lost in her almost golden eyes. The way they seem to _purposefully_ pull you in.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I am not used to…" she waves her hands as she searches for the word.

You cannot help her translate this time. You could not come up with an English word that comes even close to what the feeling you have is. And still, you understand what she means. You understand it perfectly. You understand it in the way you want to be near her all the time. You understand it in the way her hands always seem to reach for you, even when she is not paying attention. You understand it in the way your heart seems to migrate around inside your chest when she is around, even though you know it stays perfectly still in the pericardium.

You understand.

She sees this in your eyes and gives a half-smile, her hands freeze their movements before dropping back to the bed.

Your hand touches something flat and something round and you almost give an actual fist pump before smiling at her. She smiles back, and you grab the desired items and run back over to bed, flopping down beside your naked girlfriend. "I can't believe you've never just eaten peanut butter and chocolate."

"Do Reese's count?"

"No," you laugh, unscrewing the lid on the peanut butter. "It's not fresh peanut butter. I'm not even sure if it _is_ peanut butter."

She grins, grabbing for the chocolate and opening it. "We should run some tests on them later, then."

You roll your eyes to hide the fact you want to smile giddily. She gives you a knowing grin as she scoops some peanut butter onto a chunk of chocolate. "Yes, Doctor. We can run tests on Reese's cups later. And if it's _not_ peanut butter, we can send a very, very angry letter to Hershey's chocolate, yeah?"

She nods her affirmation, popping the chocolate into her mouth. She chews for a moment before her eyes go wide.

"That is good!" she exclaims.

You laugh. "Yeah. I know!" You steal the chocolate from her and dunk it into the Jif jar before eating it. "That's why I suggested it."

"Brat."

You love the sparkle in her eye that accompanies the word. She dips her finger into the peanut butter and swipes it on your nose before you can stop her. You give a noise somewhere between a squeal and a disbelieving laugh, getting as much off your nose as you can before trying to get it on her. You manage to get her cheek before both of you are laughing like mad.

When you finally are able to catch your breath, she smiles lovingly at you and your breath is gone all over again. She cups your chin to pull you closer, careful to keep her still sticky index finger off your skin. She places a tender kiss to your lips before those soft lips are on your nose, cleaning off the peanut butter slowly and shyly.

She pulls back, her eyes one big question, making sure what she did is okay. You give her a smirk and return the favor as your answer, kissing and licking and sucking any inch skin you can really reach until her lips are too inviting to resist and you find yourself back there.

Breathless she pulls back, panting shallowly but smiling none the less.

She flops back carelessly onto her back, head on her pillow and reaching for more chocolate.

You smile at her, staying sprawled out on the foot of the bed, propped up on one elbow as you extend the peanut butter jar to her.

For a while, all you do is lay there and eat and talk about nothing. Eventually she stops, her one hand falling to her stomach to rub it and calm it down.

She lolls her head to the side on the mattress, her hair, still mussed from your earlier endeavors, is splayed about her head in the sexiest of ways. She gives you a small smile.

You smile back before sticking the piece of chocolate you were holding into your mouth, not to eat it, but to simply suck the peanut butter from it.

Her eyes darken, wanton, and she bites her lip. You're lucky you remember to actually _swallow_ the chocolate melting in your grasp as you notice her fingers crawling just a little lower on her stomach, her teeth sinking a little further into her lip.

"Cosima…" she drags it out long and smooth. Beckoning to you even before her finger curls toward herself. Before she whispers, "Tu es trop loin…Viens ici."

She is doing that thing with her voice again. Like silk and thorns. It is smooth and tempting but you can hear in the low pitch and quiet endings: it is dangerous. Her words tangle themselves about your throat in a way that has you airily breathless, but any wrong move will have you suffocating in them.

The way her words fall with her breath has you hanging on them, like they are there and tangible and if you can just _hold_ them, maybe they won't be the death of you.

You let it pull you in, guide you over until you are able to touch her skin. You no longer need guided after that. Your body wants it just as much as she does.

You straddle her waist and she smiles up at you seductively, lifting her chin up just a little, inviting you down. You oblige her, leaning down to kiss those so kissable lips, delighting in the moan you receive.

"Baise-moi." So low and sultry and yet soft. Hesitantly alluring.

Your stomach flips when her hands slide up your thighs and to your hips. And you already feel your arousal, deep-set in your bones, tingling. Waiting.

Her hands grip your hips tighter, and you grind lightly against her stomach, your knees still holding most of your weight on either side of her body. Her breathy gasp spurs you on, and you are so desperate to feel her come undone, you overestimate your abilities.

Your goal had been to get your knee between her thigh, but you did not want to detangle your fingers from her hair and you _certainly _didn't want to tear your lips from hers. So when you lifted your knee from the bed to move it, you had essentially toppled over, cursing against her skin and not letting go at the same time.

She giggles.

You giggle.

And then both of you are laughing and kissing at the same time, lips meeting teeth instead of lips when your laughs are not in sync. And when they _are _in sync, and your lips meet hers so perfectly, you love how you can feel her next laugh bubbling up in her chest before it actually releases against you. Her fingers caress your cheek and around your jaw affectionately, and you pull back from her just enough to see the laugh in her eyes. The humor fades into just a smile and she pulls you back in for a soft and careful kiss.

She rolls you back on top of her, and you get your knee in the right place this time. Her hands begin to really wander your body this time around, feeling out curves and sensitive areas and you realize how hard she is trying. Somewhere along the way your kissing got urgent and your hand started some wandering of its own. You play with her breast and skim down her side and look for the little spot near her ribs that drove her absolutely mad last time.

Her groan is unmistakable as your fingers swipe just under her breast, her body arching to meet yours. It's heaven, you decide. Heaven is her rumbling chest and salty skin and devilish fingers. Heaven is her laugh still pealing brightly in your ears and her smile against your lips.

You press your knee up a little harder against her center, and she squirms lightly against it.

"Plus," she gasps into your mouth, her nails biting into your back.

"Plus?" you ask lightly, pushing your knee upward. "Like that?"

She shakes her head loosely, her eyes staying closed. "S'il te plait, Cosima."

"What?" you ask against her neck before continuing your kissing and sucking.

You love reducing her to French. You love knowing you are rendering a part of her brain completely useless. It boosts your ego more than it probably should.

"More," she forces out in a harsh exhale, "Chérie, more. In-inside."

"Mmm," you hum into her shoulder. "You should've said so."

You slip your fingers between your knee and her heat, obliging her and filling her quickly with a steady rhythm.

"Plus," she whispers again, softer, her nails raking down your neck. "Plus forte."

Thankful she's taught you at least basic words, you increase your pressure, curling your fingers more firmly until her moans get higher. You silence her with an urgent kiss, loving how it feels when she just comes apart in your arms.

Her high-pitched inhales. Her writing body. Her closed eyes and clutching hands.

You hope to see it and feel it and hear it for just about the rest of your life because even that will not be enough of it for your lifetime.

She is eager. You will always give her that. Because the second she is getting even a little oxygen to her brain, she flips you onto your back and hovers over you.

You're a goner. It's just fact now. She has ruined you forever because you know you never want anyone else looking down at you so full of love and lust combined and swirling together in such a perfectly sexual, perfectly innocent look.

She doesn't disappoint.

She has only really had sex with a woman three times. Once at your flat. Once at Felix's. And once here in this bed earlier.

And she can already play your body like a damned instrument.

She takes at least an hour just mapping out the crests and valleys of you like they're Atlantis, and then she kisses you like you've saved her from something. And _then_ when she finally touches you, fills you, it's like she's been doing it all her life.

But the way she buries her nose into your shoulder as she works tells you she hasn't.

For some reason that just makes you feel even better.

It isn't until you are coming down from your high do things come to a screeching, blinding, crashing halt.

"I hope I am…better," she says quietly into the silence.

It feels like a slap. Like a twenty car pileup has just taken place inside your chest.

You pull back enough to find her eyes, and she looks genuinely concerned and afraid. Words fail you. Hundreds of them collect in your throat and on your tongue, all the thousands upon millions of variations of some kind of answer desperate to release, but they stay caught inside you. You force all your brainpower into trying to get the words out, but nothing is working. You can't even see her anymore you are trying so hard to ask her what she meant or tell her she is wrong because secretly you really do know what she means.

It doesn't work. The words don't come.

You focus back on her again, only to find her eyes wet, tears collecting in her eyes but not falling. You don't know how so many tears can build but it's like her eyes are swimming. Drowning.

"Better?"

_Shit, Niehaus, that was damn near the stupidest thing you've ever said._

"I…I like…" she blushes deeply, but her tears do not go away. They stay pooled in her eyes until she looks away. The movement sends tears spilling onto her cheeks. "I like what you…do and I just…I hope it is not too…bad for you."

You sit up. Why that is your first instinct, you're not sure, but it's what you do. She sits too, shyly holding the sheet to her chest.

"It's not like that," you say quietly.

"I…I…don't…?"

"I…I…" You laugh. "Y'know I was just thinking about this earlier. When I'm with you I just feel…so…_safe_. Like…we could be doing anything in the world and I wouldn't worry about what you thought because…well because all you care about is being with me."

She nods so earnestly you can actually see her desperate affirmation in her eyes.

"It's the same thing with me."

At first she does not understand how that relates. She gives you her cute, unsure little look.

"I just like…being with you. It doesn't matter if you're…experienced or…or even good for that matter. You just…you make me feel so…comfortable, Delphine."

You stand because your nerves are kicking in, and you need to do something to calm them. You start to pace and throw your hands around as you speak.

It helps. A little.

"And to me, that's what…that's what sex is about. It's about being able to laugh and to be a little daring or rough or _not_, because it should be a safe place. And I totally…I crossed that line when I said that…I did. So I sorta…I kinda ruined it for you."

You sigh again, because you hadn't really thought of that until right then.

"And I'm…I'm sorry. You deserve that level of comfort. Of being able to just…let go. But that would mean…trusting me not to hurt you and I've already done that so…" You laugh sadly, looking down at the ground. "I probably couldn't even get near your heart with a ten foot pole, huh?"

You glance back up.

She looks at you. _Really_ looks at you. Her eyes are still wet and a little red. But she seems to have forgotten her sadness as she thinks. "Come back."

What?

Her fingers unconsciously stroke the mattress beside her as she leans toward you. "Can we maybe…cuddle?"

You blink at her request.

"We have never…I mean the first time I…I left and then…Sarah and…" She pauses. "I want to feel you."

At first your mind does not comprehend what she is asking or even where it came from. It stalls inside your head as you try and flip through every piece of knowledge you have ever acquired. What that fails, you look at her. Hard.

"What?"

Her shoulders sink back slightly, like it has offended her or, more likely, she does not have the nerve to say it again.

"I…I want to feel you."

You have to be hearing her wrong. The words flowing from her mouth and the look in her eye and her posture are all screaming different things at you.

_I want to feel you_.

Simple words in and of themselves. A child could define each. But you can't. You cannot, for the life of you, discern what they mean.

Her posture is shy while the words are blunt. Her tone is totally innocent but she lays there naked for you. And her eyes are their own beautiful paradox. They are darker, more like her coffee, but they are not bitter, instead they are warm. They are sharp with uncertainty and bracing for rejection, but they are vulnerable and soft, physically reaching out to coax you over to her.

It doesn't make sense.

But everything has to make sense.

Your legs bend to sit you down on the edge of the bed by her feet. She looks hopeful, her shoulder straightening, but you do not move further than that. You reach out, skimming your knuckles over the side of her leg. You glance at her and see she is now confused. Almost as much as you are.

"What is wrong?" the shaky timbre of her voice stumbles inside your chest. Nothing is wrong.

But how do you answer that? She had just been scared you judged her and now she is begging for you to come back.

You run your fingers up her leg again, dipping with the underside of her knee. This was _feeling_, wasn't it?

You drag your thumb across the top of her thigh, watching the skin excite.

Her hand catches yours, lacing your fingers together. You look her in the eye. _I want to feel you_.

In an instant, everything clicks. Her eyes are not paradoxes. They are saying one thing and one thing only. Something totally different and exactly the same as her words.

_Can I have you?_

You let her doe eyes pull you up. You let her gentle hands guide you to lie on your side, mirroring her. She wedges her thigh between yours, you in turn doing the same; it feels wonderful how well you fit together. She slips her one arm between the hollow of your neck and the mattress like a pillow, her other one falling around your bare waist, cold against your burning skin.

"You don't need to find a ten foot pole," she whispers, nuzzling her nose against yours, her eyes fluttering shut before she manages to open them again.

"Why?" you breathe.

"I…" your gaze flicks down to her lips just in time to see her bite them. "I have never felt so safe in all of my life."

You smile in relief, but the silence still crashes in your ears.

You've never been afraid of intimacy.

But this is scary.

Everything is on display; mind, body, soul. Everything is up for scrutiny. You didn't even realize you had secrets from her until you're sure she can see into every shadow your mind has hidden things. And then millions of things you have yet to tell her flood your mind.

This is _terrifying_.

And so very wonderful all at once.

The heat of her center pressed up against your thigh is not tempting or arousing. It is safe. Her foot flexes and points so her heel gently caresses her calf. It is love. Her nails scrape softly at the base of your skull, lazy and affectionate. It is warmth. Her eyes stay with yours, so sure, so bright. It is home. You want to one day be able to blindly navigate her body. It is pure.

"Cosima," she whispers.

You feel vulnerable and newly exposed at the sound of your name so precariously placed on her tongue.

"Yeah?"

Her finger ghosts down your spine absently, following the same trail as your repressed shivers.

"Thank you," she murmurs in the most genuine appreciation.

From this angle, her eyes look round, her irises back to that wonderful stage caught between honey and chocolate. You fear you can tumble into them until you consider you might've already. And if this is what it is like to be with Delphine, to be immersed in her completely, you wouldn't want it any other way.

You lean forward enough to rest your forehead to hers. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, comforted.

You are comforted too.

"For what?"

You press your thumb to her hip, your fingers splaying out across the small of her back, your ring finger dipping into one of her adorable back dimples. She smiles and opens her eyes, the side of her foot stroking your ankle.

"For…trusting me. With your…heart, as you said."

You ponder this. You roll the words over in your head as you look into her truly grateful eyes. She believes she does not deserve the do-over you handed her. That much you see.

"Thank you for making it easy," you say.

Being this close lets you see her mind working in her eyes. It appears she is trying to remember how she made it easy. It makes you want to laugh because there was no moment. No specific action. She was just her and that was enough to make trusting her again the easiest thing in the world.

"And thank you for not making me regret it."

You watch as she processes, like she has just put something in her mouth, but the taste hasn't quite registered. And then a smile pulls her lips up before it lights her eyes.

She squeezes you a little tighter.

Right then is when the reality of where you are crashes down around you. In that instant, you feel every inch of skin, and it is a lot, that is pressed against you. You feel the length of her legs and the burning of her center and the light pressure of her stomach and the strength of her arms. You feel the thrumming of her heart and the nervous sweat of her hands and the softness of her feet and the security of her forehead pressed so firmly to yours.

She is everywhere. But more importantly, so are you.

To her, you are everywhere. And to you, she is everywhere.

There are no barriers. There is not hiding behind kisses or passion or words because you are caught in the moment where all that is gone and all that remains there is you and her and it is just about the craziest moment of your entire life.

She is your beginning. She is your end. She is the life you have been so desperately grasping for your entire twenty-nine years of life and you will never have enough.


End file.
